


A Patron of the Arts

by 23Murasaki



Series: Everyone Lives! [2]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: AU, Gen, Humans Are Weird, demoning is difficult
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-28
Updated: 2014-01-28
Packaged: 2018-01-10 06:01:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1155991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/23Murasaki/pseuds/23Murasaki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People who meet Ciel Phantomhive's butler say he is a kind person. He isn't entirely sure why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Patron of the Arts

“Do you enjoy dance, Mr. Butler?” asked the girl by the theater door, all muted colors and wide-eyed innocence. He stifled the desire to growl at her, the desire to point her at his young master at some point and watch the resultant chaos, the desire to make her clothes fall off and watch that resultant chaos, the desire to lead her into a demonic dance from which none ever escaped, the desire to dig his claws into her neck through his pretty white gloves, and the desire to make a string of poorly worded puns, all in rapid succession.  
  
“It is quite impressive. Few are capable of such grace of motion,” he replied instead, and the girl lit up, happily babbling about this and that and costumes and stage makeup and hair. He made the appropriate noises of admiration and let her talk. He wasn’t needed anywhere at that exact moment, after all, and it was good to be up to date on cultural trends.  
  
“... They’re shutting us down soon, though,” said the girl sadly. “There isn’t much money to be had, and the theater doesn’t pay for its upkeep anymore...”  
  
“Is that so?” he asked, trying to sound concerned. It had once been more difficult. This time it only took a moment to assume the correct tone and facial expression. The girl didn’t seem to notice the minute delay.  
  
“Yes,” said the girl. “All of the dancers– the ones that haven’t retired – they’re going east. Some of them said they wanted to dance in Moscow...”  
  
“In Russia...?” he asked, hoping that that was actually where Moscow was. The girl nodded vigorously.  
  
“It’s so far away... I’d be scared...” She sighed and brushed her hair off of her face. “Do you think those girls will dance for the Czar, Mr. Butler?”  
  
“Perhaps,” he answered with a smile. He had no idea. He was not entirely sure who the present Czar was, though he could safely assume it was no longer Peter I and hadn’t been for a long time.  
  
“... Time goes by so quickly,” said the girl softly. “I’d be an old woman by the time I got to Russia...” It was an odd sentiment. A demon lived long enough to see that people didn’t change much at all, that there could be 500 of this girl and they would all dream the same dreams and have the same fears, but at the same time, if he closed his eyes he could hear the world shifting around him, a great beast of a machine awakening from eons of slumber, little by little, tearing away the ground and changing the shape of the world.  
  
“You still should travel,” he said abruptly. “Do so while you are young and while you still long for something.”  
  
“You’re young too, Mr. Butler,” she blurted. “You talk like you’re so old, but...” He wanted to say that he was old. He wanted to tell her he was older than her theater, older than her London, older than the pretty locket he assumed was a family heirloom of some type, but he bit his tongue.  
  
“Perhaps, but I am merely a butler. I cannot leave here against my master’s will.”  
  
“I guess you can quit your job...” said the girl uncertainly. Some days he wanted to. Some days he wanted nothing more than to break contract and run and see the ends of the earth and find... something he couldn’t put words to in any language he knew, but that would fit perfectly into that empty place in his head that he was so aware of but none of his kin seemed to understand. Most days, though, he refused to philosophize.  
  
“Alas, Miss, I need my payment,” he said, because he couldn’t starve himself forever, no matter how much clearer the world looked through hunger pains than through a sated and bored haze.  
  
“Yes,” said the girl. “Money is hard to come by, isn’t it?”  
  
“Certainly,” he replied. In the distance, a bell tolled. He was running late again.  
  
\-----  
  
The theater closed a few months later. He hadn’t expected to meet the girl on the sidewalk again, but there she was, wide eyes red from crying and another girl, slightly older, at her side. It seemed they were both out of jobs. They looked pitiful, really. The one he knew caught his eye and looked away quickly. Well, he had nowhere else to be.  
  
“Have they all gone to Moscow?” he asked by way of greeting, and the girl shook her head with a weak laugh.  
  
“None of us have, Mr. Butler,” she said. “And none of us will.”  
  
“Perhaps not Moscow,” he admitted, “But you would do well to leave this place.”  
  
“How?” This time the older girl spoke. Her voice was rough from crying. “It’s not like we can just buy our way out, you know.” They couldn’t fly, either. So few creatures could. It was troublesome, really.  
  
“Perhaps this will be of use, then,” he said, holding out a coin purse full of money he didn’t need to use to get by. A demon had no real need for worldly comforts, and his young master wasn’t ever entirely sure how much household servants ought get payed. It didn’t even put a dent in his fortune anyway.  
  
They thanked him, of course, profusely, and the younger one called him an angel and he felt the need to insist he was only one hell of a butler, and they insisted on repaying him and he insisted that they didn’t need to, though really he could think of dozens upon dozens of ways in which he could torment them and destroy them. Eventually, they insisted they would write to him. He couldn’t argue with that. It had been a long time since he had received letters.  
  
\------  
  
That was one foolish adventure out of many. He had never thought about them, not really. It had just been a way to pass time, playing the role of the honorable citizen of the honorable empire ruled by an honorable queen. The day well over a hundred letters were delivered to the manor, most of them downright affectionate and all of them with some degree of gratitude for his supposed good deeds, he found himself utterly baffled. Mr. Tanaka had laughed quietly on his chair, sipping his tea as the Queen’s messanger read over the demon’s shoulder looking as perplexed as the demon felt.  
  
“You seem... quite well-liked?” he offered warily. The demon shook his head.  
  
“Human beings are strange creatures,” he non-answered, before wondering if he sounded rather less human than normal. If he did, the Queen’s butler did not notice. Instead, he sighed heavily and turned his attention back to his tea, a lock of white hair falling into his face.  
  
“... Far stranger than I originally thought,” he mused.


End file.
